


crimson in the embers

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Burns, Canon Era, Gen, Phoenixes, kind of Bahorel/Combeferre?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: The trailing embers reflected in Combeferre’s glasses were going to send Bahorel into hysterics. Again.“That’s not a chicken.” Combeferre said flatly and Bahorel drew in a breath as they watched the ashes harden into something resembling an egg.“Oh—do you think?” Bahorel snapped. Combeferre’s expression didn’t change so he must understand he didn’t mean the sharp tone. This was an unprecedented situation and Bahorel wasn’t sure how to work through it just yet.;;a snapshot of fatherhood in three parts. (magic!AU)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	crimson in the embers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Miserable(s) Month](https://themiserablesmonth.tumblr.com/) Day Two! The prompt is scorched. 
> 
> Title is from White Is in the Winter Night by Enya. 
> 
> Vaguely inspired by a time I was roasting peeps over the campfire for s’mores and I burnt my finger on the sugar. 🙃

The trailing embers reflected in Combeferre’s glasses were going to send Bahorel into hysterics. Again. 

“That’s not a chicken.” Combeferre said flatly and Bahorel drew in a breath as they watched the ashes harden into something resembling an egg. 

“Oh—do you think?” Bahorel snapped. Combeferre’s expression didn’t change so he must understand he didn’t mean the sharp tone. This was an unprecedented situation and Bahorel wasn’t sure how to work through it just yet. 

The woman had been so honest when she caught Bahorel’s sleeve in the street several days ago. She had looked up at him with wide eyes, her lips had trembled, she had said she wasn’t able to care for the chicken any longer. She had asked him to take it like it was the last thing—the only thing—she wanted to do. The chicken in question, still in her arms, had looked up at him with watery, tired, eyes and Bahorel had held out his hands to accept her pleas.

What was he supposed to do? Leave them both to their misery? Of course not.

The chicken was big but not noteworthily so. The most notable thing about it was that it’s tail feathers trailed out approximately two or three feet but surely that just sometimes happened with some breeds of chicken. His parents' farm never housed any such kind but the world was vast and who was he to dictate what chickens could and could not grow into?

Bahorel wanted to believe the woman hadn’t known the chicken wasn’t a chicken but the not-chicken had only been in his rooms a fortnight before it had—literally—burst into flames in his hands. 

Combeferre swore and Bahorel’s attention was drawn from his thoughts to the ash-egg on his floors. The wood beneath it was scorched and Combeferre’s cravat was singed beyond mend.

Combeferre had arrived when the morning’s panic was still over the fact the chicken was approaching its last cluck. He had tried to calm Bahorel down—he _hadn't_ killed it— _yes_ he thought it was just _that_ old. They were still dealing with the immediate fallout of said chicken bursting into embers and flames and ashes and other distinctly non-chicken bits. 

“Bahorel stop.” Combeferre’s voice was firm but tinged with worry. Bahorel pulled himself from his thoughts again. What else was today going to throw at him? He was only one man and this was _quite_ enough for any one man to deal with. Combeferre sidestepped the smouldering remains and grabbed the outside of Bahorel’s wrists. His touch was gentle and—oh for the love of all that was holy if he had not-chicken bits— “Calm down. You’re hurt.” 

Bahorel looked down at his hands and _oh_ , he was right. His skin was raw and blistered from his palms right up his arms. He wasn’t numb—that was searing pain fogging his mind. He sucked in a breath and pressed his teeth together tightly. Now that he was aware of it, the pain was sharp and throbbing and unrelenting. Combeferre twisted his wrists one way to the other. It made the pain worse but it was best to have him look at it. 

“It doesn’t look too bad. How’s the pain?” 

Bahorel went for a non-committal noise but it came out as a whine. He glanced at Combeferre who, without his cravat looked oddly relaxed. It probably helped that he had a distraction from the ashes. Burns Combeferre could deal with, the mess on the ground—not so much. Combeferre glanced to his hands and then to his chest. Bahorel gasped suddenly, “my waistcoat.” 

Combeferre reached forward and unbuttoned it with ease as Bahorel stood there with his hands held out uselessly in front of him. Combeferre’s shoulders slumped in relief to see that the shirt beneath was unmarked. Bahorel however, was not so easily calmed. 

“This is my good—“

“Enough about your clothes. We have to get you bandaged up before that egg does anything else. Or have you forgotten what happenes to a phoenix?”

Bahorel looked at the egg and then about his rooms, “This is no place to raise a child.” 

“I’m sorry—what—“ Combeferre began then pressed his lips together and shook his head. Bahorel looked at him and Combeferre frowned down at his hands, “I don’t have my medical supplies with me. Are you alright to walk to my rooms?” 

Bahorel went to say that they wouldn’t leave without the phoenix egg but Combeferre was already wrapping it up in the remains of his cravat. He passed the egg from one hand to the other as he went to the bed and wrapped it in a sheet. Bahorel frowned, he had just had them washed because he had split his lip at a cafe and bled on them during the night. Prouvaire hadn’t quieted about him taking a vampyric lover until he got rid of the offending stain. 

“We have to be quick because I’m not certain it won’t burn through the fabric.” Combeferre said and Bahorel sent him a glance. Combeferre huffed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I know. I know. I’ll purchase you a new sheet if this one’s ruined. Might I remind you that this is _your_ phoenix?”  
  


* * *

  
They needn't have worried about rushing because it took nearly two weeks for the egg to hatch. In order for the chick to be healthy the egg had to remain warm, well, more accurately, _hot_ and seeing as it was mid-August, that meant Bahorel’s rooms were sweltering for every moment of those two weeks. 

Prouvaire was currently lounged by the window, fanning himself dramatically with his shirt unbuttoned as if he could seduce a cool breeze towards him. Combeferre was closer to the glowing embers, he had stripped down so that he was still presentable but not in very polite company. Bahorel thought it was a good look for him. 

“It won’t be long now.” Combeferre said and he had been this confident for a week by this point. Eventually the words would strike true. “Oh—Bahorel—“ Combeferre whispered and Prouvaire lept to his feet. 

“Is it happening?” He asked, coming to kneel by the fire. Bahorel couched down next to him, sharing the beginning of a grin. The egg was nestled inside Bahorel’s ruined waistcoat, resting on the charred remains of Combeferre’s cravat. They had gone through two sets of sheets—sometimes the egg heated up to the point it caught on fire but it had only happened three times and the bandages around Bahorel’s hands and arms were so thick that twice he was able to pluck the egg out from harm's way without injury. The third time Combeferre had been there and he had elbowed him in the face as he bodily prevented him from getting to the egg. Everything had turned out alright as Combeferre had put out the fire and Bahorel got to watch Enjolras’ expression drop when Bahorel told him who dealt him the black eye. Combeferre had been so flustered it had made Enjolras laugh and Courfeyrac had almost discovered the existence of the phoenix egg. 

It wasn’t that they were keeping it a secret, it was that Courfeyrac had gotten kicked out of his rooms once already for catching his curtains on fire in a fit of dramatics and they didn’t want to give him opportunity to repeat the offense. Pontmercy was currently doing one of his run-always and they didn’t want Courfeyrac to change rooms and not have somewhere safe for him to return to. Honestly, what Marius got up to in his free time wasn’t any of Bahorel’s business so he tried not to gossip about it. Combeferre swore he saw him in the Luxembourg gardens two nights ago and Courfeyrac was fairly certain he had come home the other night but he was in and out while Courfeyrac was asleep. He could sleep through anything through and he was prone to having worrying dreams about his friends when they were causing him stress so it was unsure how accurate the claim was. 

Courfeyrac would be introduced to the phoenix chick when it no longer needed fire as its constant companion—a time which looked like it was rapidly approaching. 

The egg wobbled a little and a hairline fracture broke across the top of the shell. Bahorel could scarcely breathe as the cracks became more pronounced and then whole pieces of shell fell off. Finally, it emerged from the glowing embers. It’s feathers were wet and stringy, and it steamed a little. Finally, it chirped and rose to its feet. It toppled over onto its side immediately but its head was back up a moment later. Combeferre reached in and pulled it from the embers, wincing at the heat—he had no right to scold him for being reckless when he did things like this. He put it on the wood floor and it chirped, looking around as if affronted. 

“That’s not a phoenix.” Jehan frowned, leaning back and resting his hands on his knees. “It’s a chicken.” 

“It’s not a chicken.” Combeferre and Bahorel said at once. 

Prouvaire shook his head, grinning, “It’s a chicken.”   
  


* * *

  
“Tell La Pucelle d’Paris she has a gentleman caller.” Combeferre said as he unlocked Bahorel’s front door. Bahorel had gotten in late last night so he and Jeanne were still in bed. Of all the strange ways Combeferre had entered a room, this was by far the strangest. Bahorel opened one eyes and spotted Courfeyrac at Combeferre’s heels. Oh, that explained it. Jeanne hopped up out of her nest and raced across the floor to circle Courfeyrac in a dizzying display of excitement. Bahorel frowned and resigned himself to hosting company this early in the day. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Bahorel asked and the look his friends shared meant that either it was later in the day than he realized or they hadn’t. Either way it was best to prepare a little something for his guests. They settled in and Jeanne clucked persistently until Combeferre picked her up and put him on her lap. 

“He’s not your father, you know.” Bahorel reminded her and both his friends laughed. Bahorel didn’t think it particularly charming. He worked his hands raw (literally) for six weeks and Combeferre received all the affection. He turned his attention from the traitor phoenix to his guests, “what brings you to my doorway, gentlemen?” 

“We were out and wanted to call in on the most handsome woman in Paris.” Courfeyrac leaned forward to make sure Jeanne knew he was talking about her. Jeanne, unfortunately, wasn’t paying him any mind. Combeferre was petting her back and if phoenixes could put, that’s what she would be doing right now. Besides Combeferre’s lap, Jeanne’s second favorite place to roost was Enjolras’ shoulder, but only when he was speaking. She liked to strut about Grantaire’s ankles when he was watching Enjolras with a particularly passionate gaze, and abandoned her father to Bossuet and Joly whenever they were up to mischief. She exclusively napped in Feuilly’s arms when they were out and about. 

She always came to Bahorel when she was frightened or upset though and that had to mean something. 

“As of late you have always been calling on her and not I.” Bahorel frowned, and caught Combeferre’s eye as he looked up and grinned. Courfeyrac merely shrugged, nonplussed and stretched his legs out on the floor in front of him. Seeing as Jeanne had only just reached a foot in height, it was only polite they bring their conversation to the floor she she could partake as she so wished. 

“Did I tell you Pontmercy has returned? He knocked on my door late last night asking if he may spend the evening.” 

“Hasn’t he a key?” Bahorel asked and Courfeyrac nodded. 

“He produced it when it was inquired about but informed me he didn’t want to presume.” 

“Does he take you for someone to rescind his promises?” Combeferre asked, twisting his lips into a frown. 

“He takes himself for someone who isn’t always welcomed.” Courfeyrac scowled. Bahorel would be more than happy to raise his fists against whoever affected Pontmercy in this way, but he feared Pontmercy would scatter to the wind at the altercation. 

“Did you inform him that he is the last of Jeanne’s uncles to meet her?” 

Courfeyrac nodded, “I gave him your address and told him that he was to bring himself around for an introduction at his earliest convenience. She might have to go to him as he is intimidated by Combeferre.” 

Combeferre made a face that plainly read that he didn’t know how he came to that reaction and Courfeyrac grinned. Bahorel watched the gentle way Combeferre ran his fingers over Jeanne’s back. “We’ll go to him. Where is he this moment?” 

“I left him surrounded by books.” 

Bahorel looked at his friends and then to Jeanne who was watching him now. “Let’s not deprive Pontmercy Jeanne’s affections any longer.” 

Jeanne hopped up and clucked around them. Courfeyrac climbed to his feet. Combeferre held out his hand and Bahorel reached out to pull him to his feet. If they held onto each other for a moment longer than necessary, well that certainly wasn’t anyone’s business but their own, was it? Bahorel ignored the thought as he gathered up Jeanne's travelling cloak and began to convince her to wear it. 

**Author's Note:**

> PS the phoenix is named after Jeanne d'Arc, her name isn't a Jean joke :(


End file.
